


To Make the World That Simple

by RoxanneRolls



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxanneRolls/pseuds/RoxanneRolls
Summary: This four-part story begins during the ending scene between McGee and Gibbs in the Season 17 finale “The Arizona.”  Italicized passages in the first chapter indicate dialogue written by Gina Lucita Monreal, who wrote the  episode.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 67
Kudos: 174





	1. Something About Me

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out "That'll Be the Day" is not going to be my first and last foray into the NCIS Universe. Thank you to those who have offered encouragement and very kind comments. I have been inspired to play with Gibbs and Jack some more. (They are so fun to play with.)

**To Make the World That Simple**

ATC for “The Arizona”

by MAHC (RoxanneRolls)

_This three-part story begins during the ending scene between McGee and Gibbs in the Season 17 finale “The Arizona.” Italicized passages in the first part indicate dialogue written by Gina Lucita Monreal, who wrote the episode._

**Chapter 1: Something About Me**

POV: Timothy McGee

_“I wanna tell you somethin’ about Joe. Somethin’ about me.”_

Tim McGee sat perched on Gibbs’ couch, face somber, having no idea what his boss might reveal about the subject of their latest case, or about himself, but he could tell it was heavy. Never had Gibbs begun a sentence directed at McGee with “I want to tell you something about me,” and it was mildly terrifying. He already knew the not-so-secret secret that Gibbs had tracked down and taken out the murderer of his wife and child, so he figured any other revelations might be anti-climactic, but it seemed like his boss needed him to listen, and Tim was not about to let him down.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was the man Tim McGee admired most in the world. Gibbs wouldn’t like that, he was sure. Wouldn’t like being on a pedestal. Oh, McGee was well aware of the veteran agent’s flaws, a man who fought his demons nightly and sometimes lived up to his second-B-for-bastard reputation. But even before Paraguay, even before the two men laid themselves bare in almost every way possible, witnessing their worst moments, forcing strength into each other’s failing bodies and souls in order to claw their way off that ship and back home, even before that life-changing bond, McGee had known Jethro Gibbs was a man to admire, to emulate, to make proud.

He had worked with the Supervisory Special Agent for almost 18 years, had survived in a hell-hole with him every day for two months, but there was still so much about Gibbs that remained a mystery. Which was why, as he sat, open-mouthed and stunned, he was also incredibly grateful for the honor of being the person with whom Leroy Jethro Gibbs chose to share a terribly personal, terribly painful memory of war and homecoming.

_“What I saw in Kuwait…before that I was different. Took something from me. It’s what war does.”_ Gibbs paused, his eyes closing, forearms resting on his knees, and McGee watched him intently, knowing there was no expectation of any comment. Finally, the veteran agent continued. _“Sometimes, I think if my girls had been there when I got home, maybe they wouldn’t have recognized me.”_

McGee flinched at the mention of Gibbs’ family, an overwhelming wave of despair rushing through him for what his friend and mentor had lost. His mind substituted Delilah, Johnny, and Morgan for Shannon and Kelly Gibbs, and he forced back a sob, comprehending just how devastating it had to have been. He could not fathom how Gibbs had survived such tragedy.

As if he were unaware of any struggle within his senior field agent’s heart, Gibbs murmured, _“Maybe there wouldn’t have been enough of me left for them to hang onto. Maybe…the best of me was gone.”_

McGee wanted to counter that speculation, assure him that the best of Leroy Jethro Gibbs most certainly was not gone, that the man before him was good, decent, loyal, heroic – an icon among the entire agency. He wanted to share with him how very much he was admired and respected and…most of all, loved, by every single one of his team, by Leon…definitely by Jack – McGee was certain about that. But he didn’t, because now Gibbs’ stare was distant, as if he was seeing back 30 years. 

_“You come home,”_ he said softly, _“and you’re like half a person. The other half of ya’s still back there where…at least it made sense.”_ He shook his head slowly, still staring, unfocused, through time. _“Where…even with the bullets and the blood and the chaos, ya knew what mattered.”_

Unconsciously, he let long fingers tug the chain around his neck, and McGee saw a flash of silver appear over the collar of the black T-shirt before a round medallion was swallowed up in Gibbs’ large palm.

_“You knew that the guy next to you was willing to die for you…and you for him.”_ McGee wondered whose faces Gibbs saw in his memories, whose voices he heard, whose deaths he had witnessed, whose names might be etched on that medallion.

Gibbs’ voice was husky now, thick with emotion. _“And ya look around, and think…it shouldn’t take a war…to make the world that simple.”_

For a long moment, neither man spoke. Gibbs laid both hands on the box that held Joe Smith’s ashes and let his fingers rub gently over the top, Jackson Gibbs’ worn silver ID bracelet brushing against a side.

As he soaked in the experience of his boss’s rare emotional revelation, McGee was struck with his own memory of a man willing to die for him, of a man who stayed behind with only a rifle and side arm to fend off an overwhelming force long enough for him, Torres, and those children to make it to the refuge of the helicopter. Flashes of those darkest hours threatened to take his breath, and he forced himself to take in air through his nose and let it out through his mouth like Dr. Grace had showed him. 

That did little, though, to dispel the vision of Gibbs’ battered face, his lips and cheek split open and splattered with blood, his eyes swollen almost shut, as he stumbled through the narrow passages of the rusting hulk, prodded, and sometimes punched, by the business end of a baseball bat, only minutes removed from being savagely beaten and kicked. McGee was not spared either, but his physical torture paled in comparison with his boss’s. He could still feel the terror shoot through him, nauseate him, at the memory of being tied up and forced to watch as Gibbs writhed on the filthy table, half drowning under the canvas that covered his face during the waterboarding, finally, mercifully, passing out, the remaining water bubbling from his lips, proof, at least, that he still lived.

“Tim?” The voice, soft but concerned, broke through the disturbing scenes, and he lifted his eyes to find Gibbs leaning toward him, brows drawn together, his right hand moving from the box to McGee’s arm. “You okay?”

For a moment, he stared at his boss, mentally cataloguing each faded scar Gibbs’ strong face bore from the nightmare of Paraguay: the split cheek, the busted eyebrow, the gashed forehead, the broken nose. Lastly, his gaze rested on the permanently-crooked left ring finger. He considered that maybe there was some symbolism in that before the familiar voice sounded again, louder this time, accompanied by a quick shake to his elbow.

“McGee?”

“Yeah, Boss,” came the automatic answer. Tim blinked twice, struggling to thrust the harsh visions of their jungle ordeal out of his mind.

With a heavy sigh, Gibbs shook his head. “Aw, hell, McGee. I shouldn’t have – “

But Tim’s hand shot out, grabbing Gibbs’ flannel sleeve before he could say more. “No, Boss!” he insisted, noting somewhere in the back of his mind that the startled look on his companion’s face would have been funny under other circumstances. “I mean…I…” A melancholy smile softened his face, and he let his hand loosen. His next word held so much meaning and emotion that his voice broke slightly as he uttered it. “Gibbs.”

The senior agent's eyes widened before he cocked his head in acknowledgement of the name and the sentiment. 

“Don’t you know,” McGee managed, “how much it means to me that you would share what you just did? That you would share it…with _me_?” 

Gibbs seemed to study him, reading his emotions, before he offered McGee that familiar smile, the one that just barely lifted the right side of his mouth and then disappeared almost immediately.

Tim wanted to say more, wanted to sooth whatever pain his mentor was dealing with from the memories, but instead he pushed up from the couch and extended his hand to show his appreciation for the precious gift he had been given. Gibbs stood also, those cool blue eyes flicking down to McGee’s outstretched hand, then back up, and another smile touched his lips, this one not as melancholy. With the back of his left hand, he gently batted away McGee’s right and stepped up to him, pulling the SFA against his chest, his arms wrapping Tim up tightly.

“Means somethin’ to me, too, Tim,” he whispered hoarsely against McGee’s ear.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but neither man seemed eager to let go. Finally, they kind of mutually loosened their arms and stepped back, throats clearing simultaneously to cover the emotions clogging them.

“You really sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Tim asked one more time, a little concerned about Gibbs going alone all the way to Hawaii with Joe’s ashes.

Lifting his chin in the general direction of the door, Gibbs said, “Don’t forget the grill.”

The dismissal was kind, but clear. McGee nodded, moving around the couch and into the foyer, picking up the cleaned grill top from where he had propped it against the wall separating the two rooms. “Boss I – ”

But Gibbs was already bending down, throwing the garment bag Tony had given him years ago over his shoulder as he turned toward the kitchen.

“Have a good trip, Boss.”

After one more fond look, Tim tugged open the outside door, moving past the coat rack as he avoided banging the metal against the carefully painted wood. Just before the door closed, his periphery caught sight of a light tan jacket hanging there, and his last thought before he stepped from Gibbs’ house was that he was pretty sure he had seen Jack in a coat like that just the day before.

**TBC**


	2. Is That a Sig in Your Pocket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew what she was doing, and he almost pulled away, having had enough concern from McGee, but he stood still and allowed himself to lean into her soft, warm touch, wondering what it might feel like for her lips to brush over each scar, not just those on his face, but –

**To Make the World That Simple**

by MAHC (RoxanneRolls)

**Chapter 2: Is That a Sig in Your Pocket?**

POV: Leroy Jethro Gibbs

When he heard the front door close, Gibbs dropped the garment bag on the coffee table and straightened, arching his back slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled hard. Joe had said it would make him feel better to talk about his experiences, but he wasn’t sure yet, despite the fact that McGee’s reaction had been kind, encouraging, even. Gibbs had felt the support from his SFA, but he had also seen painful memories in those younger eyes, memories of Paraguay, memories of torture, memories of vulnerability. Mercifully, Gibbs had seen no pity. He did not think he could have dealt with that. It was probably the key reason he had kept silent about Kuwait all these years.

Glancing toward the door, he smiled as he thought of McGee and his family, and he hoped that maybe his words had reminded the younger man of how precious those relationships were, and not to take them for granted. After a few seconds of staring, unfocused, at the colorful leaded glass of his foyer window, his gaze brushed over the stylish tan coat that hung from the wooden rack by the door, and warmth spread through the center of his chest. He wondered if McGee had noticed the coat. Then he decided he really didn’t care if he had.

“You can come out now,” he called toward the kitchen.

Soft footsteps answered him as Jack appeared from the laundry room, wearing faded jeans and a nicely fitting ARMY T-shirt. She smiled sheepishly at him. “I wasn’t trying to – “

He waved away her apology. “S’fine, Jack,” he said, giving her that shadow of a smile that involved only a small flinch from his mouth and did not involve his eyes at all.

Biting at her lower lip, she crossed through the dining room, holding up a red USMC hoodie. “Found it.”

He chuckled. “Not sure I’m gonna need a sweatshirt in Hawaii, Jack.”

“Oh, it’s not for you,” she clarified, eyebrows lifting. “It’s for me, um, while you’re gone.” Her cheeks colored, despite her own sauciness.

“Yeah?” he asked, smirking at her flush as he stepped toward her.

“Yeah,” she answered, adding her own broader smile.

“S’not Army issue,” he pointed out, tilting his head toward the bold letters across her own shirt.

“I make exceptions for certain people,” she returned, and he could not ignore the pleasure her words inspired nor the suggestive sway of her hips as she sauntered up to him. _Sexy._

When she stood in front of him, though, and looked up into his eyes, her expression grew serious. “You okay?”

He took a breath, then cleared his throat, pressing his lips together. After a long beat, he glanced away from her and murmured, “Figured maybe Joe was on to somethin’. Maybe tellin’ somebody – somebody who didn’t understand – “ His gaze flicked back to her. “Didn’t need to tell _you_. Ya already know.”

Brown eyes full, she nodded. “Yeah. I do.” Her left hand reached up, holding his cheek in her palm. “I do,” she repeated in a whisper as her gaze skimmed over the marks those two months of torture had left on his handsome face. 

He knew what she was doing, and he almost pulled away, having had enough concern from McGee, but he stood still and allowed himself to lean into her soft, warm touch, wondering what it might feel like for her lips to brush over each scar, not just those on his face, but –

“You and McGee,” she said, “have a bond from Paraguay.”

He could not deny that.

“Trust,” she continued. “You trust him.”

He blinked a couple of times and swallowed. He did trust Tim, maybe even more than he had trusted DiNozzo. Although he always knew Tony had his six, had saved his life once, they had never been forced to watch each other through the degradation, humiliation, and torture, both physical and mental, that he and Tim had endured in Paraguay. 

“And he trusts you.”

“Yeah.” His voice came out thick and hoarse. _Damn it!_

Jack’s thumb caressed his jaw, almost touched his lips, but then she gave him a brief smile and dropped her hand, breaking the moment. Gibbs could not decide if he was glad or not. Shaking her head, she gestured to the modest hand-held duffle and accompanying garment bag. “This all you’re taking, Cowboy? That’s pretty light travel, even for you.”

He followed her gaze to the khaki canvas travel bag. “Quick trip,” he justified. “Just long enough to take care of Joe.” He let his eyes rest briefly on the simple box that still sat on his coffee table.

“Long flight, though,” Jack observed.

Nodding, Gibbs moved away from her and bent again to pick up the garment bag, tugging it over to the couch and draping it over the end closest to the door. 

Her voice followed him. “Hate for you to go alone.”

A broad shoulder shrugged. “I’ll have Joe,” he pointed out with only a touch of sarcasm as he unzipped the bag enough to make sure his tie had not gotten crumpled.

She breathed out a soft laugh and was quiet for another beat or two. Then she cleared her throat. “I could, um…I mean…You want me to go with you?” she offered.

He spun around, staring at her, not sure why that surprised him. He could tell she fully expected him to turn her down; in fact, he opened his mouth to do just that, then shut it again. He had been by himself for a long time, figured that was his ultimate destiny, so he anticipated it, maybe even encouraged it. 

Frowning, he pondered her offer. He could go alone to Hawaii and it would be fine. Or he could ask Jack to go with him…and it would be better. A hell of a lot better. Suddenly, going to Hawaii with only Joe’s ashes as a companion seemed uncomfortably lonely.

Still, he was almost startled when he heard himself answer quietly, “Yeah.”

“What?”

His voice firmer, surer, he asked, “How soon can ya be ready?”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, a shocked laugh coming from her mouth. “Uh, wow! Okay! I can – a half-hour. Forty minutes tops.”

A sudden twinge of uncertainty made him quickly add, “Only if you really want. Don’t have to if – “

Her hands reached out, clutching at his biceps, squaring him with her and silencing him. “No! I mean, yes, I want to.” Taking a calming breath, she slid her hands from his arms across his chest, to rest side by side at the center. Quietly, but with intensity, she assured him, “I want to go with you, Gibbs. I _want_ to.”

He answered with a nod, a press of his lips, and a softening of his eyes, and then a real smile broke across his features.

She grinned back and impulsively grabbed his shoulders and kissed him soundly. At the touch of her soft lips, he found his arms wrapping around her, pulling her firmly against him, his mouth – among other things – responding immediately. The warmth of the initial kiss flamed into a fire that consumed his body from head to toe. The way Jack’s lithe frame writhed against him, one hand clutching at his shoulder, the other running through the short hair at the back of his neck, told him she burned, too. 

With a groan, he tilted his head to press his mouth harder against hers, moving a hand up to tangle in her silken hair. She shifted so that her abdomen pushed pointedly into his pelvis, removing any doubt of the effect their embrace was having on him. Her left leg lifted to wrap around the back of his thighs just below his ass, and he wondered if he could hold her if she started to crawl up his body. He sure as hell would give it a shot. Jack Sloane was a sexy, sensuous woman, and the slow burn that had smoldered the past three years was combusting right there in his living room. 

He realized he was seriously considering shoving the garment bag off the couch – crumpled tie be damned – and laying her down on the cushions to satisfy a raging ache he had not felt this intensely in a very long time. _You’re not eighteen anymore,_ he chided, but certain parts of his body did not believe him at all. 

With a gasp, Jack pulled back slightly, her breath coming fast, her lips swollen. “ _Damn_ , Cowboy,” she groaned. “Is that a Sig in your pocket, or – ”

“It’s a Colt,” he clarified.

“Ah. Should have known. Longer barrel.” Pressing a kiss against his flannel shirt, she rolled her hips into him and confirmed, “Definitely a Colt.”

“Jack,” he moaned.

His large palms caressed over her hips, up her back, shoulders, and neck before they cradled her face. He made sure she saw the desire that burned in his eyes before he swept down to join their mouths again. This time, her hands linked behind his neck, and she pulled against him to lever both of her legs up and around his hips. Dropping his arms to clutch her to him, he managed to stumble the few feet to the couch and twist their bodies so that she stayed on top of him as they sprawled across the cushions, knocking the garment bag to the floor. 

_Son of a bitch!_ His back and knees screamed out at him for being so juvenile, but then Jack’s tongue licked up the taut muscle on the side of his neck and her mouth sucked on his earlobe, and he told his back and knees to go to hell and not bother him again.

She kissed her way back to his mouth, and he met her, his hands running up her back then down her sides to end up palming her ass, his long fingers spread wide and pressed desperately into the soft roundness.

“Giiibbbs,” she groaned.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of her hands sliding under his flannel shirt and T-shirt to roam over the firm planes of his bare chest.

With an appreciative grunt, she whispered against his skin, “You are a handsome devil, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

His laugh became a moan when she shoved both shirts up, running her tongue across his abdomen and then up to tease a hard nipple.

“More skin, fewer layers in Hawaii,” she instructed, her eyes scanning his half-naked torso when she pushed back slightly to straddle him.

_Hawaii!_ The word jarred him, bringing an unwelcome reminder that he had a plane waiting at Joint Base Andrews. “Aw, hell!” he groaned.

“Hell, _yeah_ ,” she responded, misinterpreting his groan as her hands explored his body with progressively intimate touches.

The last thing he wanted to do was stop her, stop what was happening. His body thought he was crazy even to think about it, but his brain betrayed the rest of him and somehow, he managed to stammer, “Jack we – gotta – stop – “

But she and her hips paid no attention, rotating slowly against him, drawing another moan from deep in his throat.

Summoning more willpower than he would have bet he had, he breathed out, “Gotta catch – plane – “

“What? Oh, _damn!_ ” She sat up, a regretful frown on her face. “Damn, damn, damn!” Grabbing at his left arm, she twisted her head to squint at his watch. “What time is the flight?”

_Flight, what flight?_ “Uh…Navy transport…1400…”

With a frustrated growl, she pried herself off of him and stood. “1400?”

His brain fumbled to think, most of his blood still pooled somewhere else, but he managed a nod.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back, apparently unconcerned with its tangled state. “It’s almost noon now. I have to pack!” she declared before she looked back down, letting her eyes run the length of him, lingering appreciatively on the straining lap she had just left.

Leaning over him, she kissed him once more. “You keep that Colt ready for action, Cowboy.”

Oh, he was pretty sure that would not be a problem.

He watched as she twirled into the foyer, lifting the tan jacket from the coat rack and calling out, “Back in thirty!” before the door slammed.

Gibbs, still on the couch, blinked, his head spinning, his groin aching. He was not completely sure what had just happened, but suddenly he was certain that his trip to ensure that Joe Smith could finally rest with his shipmates had taken a very different turn. 

He didn’t figure Joe would mind.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pistol length of a Sig Sauer P228, which is the model used by most NCIS agents in the show, is 7.1 inches. The pistol length of a Colt M1911-A1 .45 ACP, which Gibbs now uses (it was his father’s from World War II), is 8.6 inches. Just saying…


	3. Knight in Shining Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She watched as Leroy Jethro Gibbs strode down the gangplank, leading Joe’s small honor guard, straight-backed, tall, moving with dignity and military precision, as if he had stepped out of uniform only three days, not 30 years, prior. The light gray suit, appropriate for the islands, yet also respectful of the ceremony and ritual involved, complimented his silver hair, gleaming in that bright sun, making him almost literally appear like a knight in shining armor. Jack shook her head at her own fanciful image.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished Chapter 3! Sorry for the wait. It's about twice as long as the previous chapter, so maybe that makes up for taking a while. I had intended this story to be only three chapters, but Gibbs and Jack decided there needed to be one more, so it's not quite over yet. I really appreciate the encouragement this group gives to writers. Thank you for the kind kudos and comments.

**To Make the World That Simple**

by MAHC (RoxanneRolls)

**Chapter 3: Knight in Shining Armor**

POV: Jack Sloane

Squinting against the glare of a brilliant spring sun, Jack Sloane stood just inside the entrance to the U.S.S. _Arizona_ Memorial, watching Joe Smith’s final journey, but her eyes were not trained on the spartan box that contained the ashes of the World War II veteran. Instead, she watched as Leroy Jethro Gibbs strode down the gangplank, leading Joe’s small honor guard, straight-backed, tall, moving with dignity and military precision, as if he had stepped out of uniform only three days, not 30 years, prior. The light gray suit, appropriate for the islands, yet also respectful of the ceremony and ritual involved, complimented his silver hair, gleaming in that bright sun, making him almost literally appear like a knight in shining armor. Jack shook her head at her own fanciful image.

When the three men reached the end of the dock, she watched Gibbs bend carefully to hand Joe’s earthly remains to one of several divers, then straighten with ceremonious precision and lift his hand to touch at his right brow, fingers together, arm angled at Marine Corps’ Manual exactness. The park ranger and Navy admiral that made up the honor guard on each side of him joined the moment with typical military coordination.

Jack smiled softly, envisioning a younger, darker-haired Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, resplendent in pristine dress blues, stark white cover with black brim and gold braid, the eagle, globe, and anchor proudly displayed, snapping a crisp salute three decades earlier. He was, as she had told him, a handsome devil. He was probably jaw-dropping gorgeous earlier in life, but she could not imagine him being any more attractive to her than he was now.

It had been a whirlwind trip so far. As Gibbs and the others waited for the divers to surface from placing Joe’s box within the rusted remains of his ship, she reflected on the past 24 hours.

**XXX**

True to her word, she had returned to his house within her thirty-minute window to find him leaning against the passenger-side door of his old truck, ankles and arms crossed, waiting. For a moment, she was worried things might be awkward after their blatant make-out session had been so abruptly interrupted, but as she dragged her bags out of the Mini Cooper, she felt his hand cover hers.

“I got it,” he said, leaning down, his lips next to her ear, breath tickling her skin. It took only a subtle shift of her head to bring her lips against his, and she was relieved that he immediately returned the kiss, taking his time to caress her mouth with his before he pulled back with a smirk and bounce of his eyebrows.

She smiled back, punching him lightly on the shoulder for being a little full of himself. “You all ready?”

“Yup,” he said, hauling both of her bags over the side and into the truck bed before he pulled open the passenger door for her to climb in.

“Ever the gentleman,” she noted, with no irony at all. As self-assured as she was, she found his old fashioned ways kind of sweet. It was also sweet that his hand found hers as soon as they pulled onto I-495 and did not leave it until they parked at Andrews NAF thirty minutes later. 

They landed at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam 10 1/2 hours later at 1830 Honolulu time, bleary-eyed from the long flight. Jack tried to trick her brain into ignoring the fact that it was 1230 back in D.C., but the heaviness in her back and shoulders was evidence that her body was not fooled. Even though they sat close, fingers intertwined, most of the trip, Gibbs had eventually propped his head against the fuselage and reverted to Marine training, catching a long nap, despite the rugged accommodations of the transport plane. Jack envied that talent, never having really mastered it, even throughout her own Army experience.

By the time they trudged down the ramp at the back of the plane, fatigue and time change had taken their toll on both of them, so when the young lieutenant who met them in a Humvee and drove them to the Navy Lodge right there on Ford Island handed them separate keys to their respective rooms, Jack threw Gibbs a curious glance. _Separate rooms, or…?_ But Gibbs didn’t respond to her or the lieutenant.

“Uh, I hope your rooms are okay,” their escort said, his eyes moving between the two of them suspiciously. “We booked two, but maybe we should have just – ” 

Jack felt her cheeks pinken. “Two’s fine.”

“If you’re sure – “ he started, but an ice-blue glare silenced the poor guy, and he gave a hasty nod, mumbling that he would be back at 1000 the next day to pick them back up. 

“Gibbs,” she scolded.

The blue eyes held studied innocence. “What?”

Shaking her head, Jack gripped her bags more firmly and glanced toward the door in front of them, suddenly unsure about their next steps. In the heat of the moment at his house, it seemed certain that they would have consummated whatever this was between them, most likely right there on the couch. But that was 12 hours ago, and even though he had been warm and attentive – when he was awake – on the plane, Jack wondered if the interruption and chance to cool down had made him rethink what that submission to each other would mean. Despite her eagerness for a physical relationship, she feared losing the friendship they had built, and she wasn’t interested in a “friends with benefits” scenario. She already knew her heart was won over. She just didn’t know if his was, too. And it scared the hell out of her to think her serious affection might be one-sided. _Play it safe,_ the logical – boring – side of her brain urged.

“Um, I guess I will see you in the morning,” she heard herself say, immediately disappointed at the thought of separating for the night.

A shadow passed over his features before he could mask it, and if she had a hand free she would have given herself a head slap. _Stupid logical brain._ “Unless – “

Smiling tiredly, he leaned close and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss against her forehead. “Night, Jack,” he whispered, sliding his key into the door across the hall and disappearing behind it.

For another few seconds, she stared at the closed door. Then she gave in to her impulse, dropped a bag, and whacked herself soundly on the back of her head. _Idiot,_ she told herself, sighing as she opened her own door and dragged in her luggage.

**XXX**

Once Joe was well and truly resting with his shipmates, and Gibbs and Jack had visited with the Admiral, it was well into the afternoon, and they had just over two hours before they needed to return to Pearl to catch an evening transport back to D.C. Jack managed to persuade Gibbs that it was practically un-American to come all the way to Hawaii and not at least step onto the beach. As a result, 75 minutes after they left the memorial, they were plodding across the sands of Pu’uloa Beach, just southwest of the harbor. 

Jack had popped into the Pearl Navy Exchange Fleet Store to buy Gibbs something to wear to the beach, and, despite his exaggerated eye roll when she handed him the gray t-shirt with NAS-128 in blue stretched across the front and Navy camo swim trunks, he wore them. She was satisfied to note that the soft material of the t-shirt clung nicely to his body. She was also satisfied to note that his eyes strayed to the skimpy lines of her non-military bikini bottoms beneath her own t-shirt as they walked.

“Don’t know how you talked me into this,” Gibbs muttered, having already complained that he had purposefully not packed a swim suit.

“I’m a very persuasive person,” she pointed out, smiling at his pout, which she could tell he put on mostly for her benefit.

“That you are,” he agreed.

She picked a semi-private spot and spread out the two towels she had also purchased at the PX, then looked back at Gibbs, shaking her head at his stiff posture. “You might have noticed that we’re on the beach,” she announced.

“Yeeesss,” he drawled.

“Yes. So, relax, Cowboy,” she ordered, tugging at his sleeve. “And lose the shirt. Let those shoulders see some rays.”

He squinted up at the sun.

“I got sunblock.” Leaning close, she whispered conspiratorially, “Give the ladies a show – maybe some of the guys, too.”

Frowning, he sent her a crooked, maybe even rueful, smile. “Not a young man anymore, Jack.”

She took a breath, surprised at the unexpected modesty. With complete seriousness, she told him, “Well, you are definitely not an old man.”

He cocked a sharp eyebrow. “What am I then?”

Jack leaned in, placing her hand at the center of his chest directly over the NAS-128. “You, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, are a handsome and extremely _sexy_ man.” 

His jaw shifted as he looked down where she touched him. With more than a little satisfaction, she watched his ears grow pink – and it had nothing to do with the sun. 

Flipping that same hand toward the scattering of other beachgoers, she said, “But go ahead and disappoint the ladies.”

He finally gave her a cheeky grin, then crossed his arms as he reached down, grabbed the hem of the shirt and stripped it off over his head, baring his lean muscles. 

_Son of a –_ Jack already knew he kept himself in good physical shape, but he had been so reluctant earlier, she had not expected what the unveiling revealed. Taking her time, she let her gaze slide hungrily over the broad shoulders, firm pectorals, still-defined abs, long biceps, and sinewy forearms. A light pattern of hair, a sexy salt and pepper mix, brushed across his chest, tapering toward the waist of his swim trunks. She was already imagining what she might find if she followed that teasing trail. She had known, of course, that his body would show evidence mapping out years of service to his country, both as a Marine and an NCIS agent. She had read his file, and Leon had filled in some of the blanks, those he knew, anyway, but the scars that marred smooth flesh – the most prominent one running down the center of his chest – only added to his masculinity. He was a beautiful man, and she was amazed that he didn’t seem to know it. 

“Jack?” His voice brought her out of her perusal, and she snapped her eyes back to his, hoping she had not actually drooled any. His entire face had now flushed deep red, the color creeping down his neck.

She laughed, acknowledging that she had openly ogled him – and maybe even licked her lips in anticipation. Sure enough, numerous heads had turned to check out the new scenery. “I have changed my mind. Put the shirt back on. You are way too tempting to share with anybody else.” 

“Too late.” He dropped down easily onto the towel closest to him, right leg bent, left leg out straight in a way that told her the knee was tender. As he arched back on his elbows, lean muscles stretched taut, Jack glimpsed the thin chain hanging around his neck, a small medallion pulling it down just below his collar bone. She had only gotten teasing peeks at the chain from under his t-shirts and polos before, and she tried not to squint at it too obviously now.

“What about you?” he asked, the caution in his voice telling her what he meant.

She had not really planned on taking off her own t-shirt, and she knew that _he_ knew why. No one could look at those vile marks across her back and not figure out what caused them. But looking into his eyes, she saw only kindness and understanding.

“It’s okay, Jack. Either way, it’s okay.”

With a decisive nod, she eased the shirt from her shoulders, although she let her hair fall down to provide partial cover. He seemed satisfied, smiling encouragement to her as he shifted his arms behind his head and lay back.

Sitting next to him on her own towel, she lifted her face to the slanting afternoon rays, the sun shifting lower toward the horizon. Evening would be on them soon, and their little moment would be over. She almost needed to pinch herself to realize the past 24 hours had even happened. Despite the idyllic moment they were sharing, the deeper purpose of the trip still swirled in her head. 

“It was special, doing this for Joe,” she told him, looking at his profile in the fading light, admiring the straight nose, full bottom lip, and strong jawline.

“Part of the job,” he deflected.

But Jack wouldn’t let him downplay what he had done. “No. No, it isn’t. Your job was to find out where the Purple Heart was. It was not your job to prove Joe was on the _Arizona_ , and it was really not your job to see to it personally that he was laid to rest there.”

“Made a promise.” She watched his brow draw down and his lips press together before he shrugged. “He didn’t have anybody else.”

Sighing, she realized he was right, and a wave of sorrow for Joe washed over her. “He had to be lonely. I wonder…all those years. No family. No one to care about him. That’s so sad. Did he ever marry?”

Gibbs shook his head. “Not that we found, but he told me – “ His lips tweaked up. “ – he knew love.”

Jack smiled at that little revelation before she saw Gibbs’ eyes darken and his jaw harden. “What?”

He sat up, staring out toward the water, the western sun splashing it red and orange as it pulled the light of day with it beyond the horizon. Jack let him mull over whatever he was not yet saying for a minute before she gently bumped against his shoulder

Finally, he turned, the fiery colors of the sunset reflecting in the midst of the blue of his eyes. He bit at his lower lip. “He said, uh, he knew love…but that it never lasts.” He looked directly at her and added, “Does it?”

Somehow, she understood that those were Joe’s words, but that Gibbs’ question had nothing to do with Joe. It was a question she knew had been answered the same way over and over for him his entire life.

She studied his face, read the doubt that crept into his eyes, and she could see the curtain to his heart – that had begun rising just the day before – lower back down. “You familiar with Tennyson?” she asked, remembering the stacks of books scattered throughout his house. It had surprised her, earlier in their friendship, how well-read he was. “’Tis better to have loved and lost than – “

He answered with a huff and an ephemeral smile, before dropping his gaze and sighing.

“I’ve never really decided if I believe it,” she admitted, already figuring from Gibbs’ history that he did not. His head remained down as she continued. “I mean, I can’t imagine not ever loving someone, but I also can’t imagine losing someone.”

He tilted his gaze toward her. “You’ve lost people, Jack.”

The pang at the thought of her Wingos was there, as always, but she shook her head with a sad smile. “Not like you lost…Shannon,” she replied carefully, knowing she was treading a fragile path. Sure enough, his jaw clenched, and he straightened, looking forward again. Reaching over, she touched the back of his hand, squeezing in apology. “I guess I’m trying to say, I can see why you don’t want to love again.”

His head snapped back toward her, and the blue eyes seemed sharper as they narrowed. “I didn’t say that.”

“Not with words,” she agreed, not flinching under his glare. She had told him once that he didn’t want to get into a glaring contest with her, but her bravado faltered a bit as the seconds clicked by and he did not waiver. Just before she was going to concede, he blinked and lowered his gaze, mouth tight, jaw hard. Sighing, she wondered how their fun hour on the beach went to hell so quickly.

Knowing Gibbs well enough to realize he was an introvert who needed time to process, she pushed up off the towel, preparing to cool off both her body and her frustration with a swim in the Pacific. As she snapped the hair tie from her wrist to pull her hair up into a ponytail, strong fingers wrapped around her ankle, squeezing gently. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head and looked down, startled to see clear apology in those beautiful eyes.

He asked her to sit back down by tilting his head toward her towel. In a smooth move, she slid cross-legged to the sand, her body facing his, her face wiped free of the frustration she had felt a few moments before. _Your turn, Cowboy._

For at least half a minute, they sat silently as she watched and waited, and he fiddled with the string of his swim trunks. Jack had to force down the strong urge to fill in the conversational void, her instinct to talk, to draw out feelings – _to fix_ – pushing hard against her determination to give him the time he needed.

Just as she started wondering if they were going to be flying all the way back to D.C. in silence, he took a deep breath, his firm chest lifting, muscles tightening and relaxing with the movement. _Focus, girl._

The vulnerability she now saw in his eyes struck deep, but she dared not show it. He bit at his lower lip for a second, then seemed to prod himself forward. “What Joe said…about love…that’s me, too.”

She knew about Shannon and Kelly, of course, and also about three ex-wives and one ex-fiancé. She had heard rumors about the former Director of NCIS and a variety of other relationships – lawyers, head-gamers, another Army officer, possibly even SecNav – that had not worked out. She did not fool herself that she was “the one” who miraculously solved all of his problems, but then again what if she was? What if, with all of her baggage, she was the one who could relate, the one who could understand, the one who could be who and what he needed at this stage in his life?

All of these thoughts rushed through her head, but she shushed them, waiting for him to say what he had to say in his own time.

Directing his gaze out toward the waves, he said, “I thought…Shannon was it for me. I figured we’d get married, have kids, grow old together. Figured the one who went first…would be me. When she…” He cleared his throat, still struggling almost 30 years later. “After she and Kelly…died…I almost ate my gun.”

Pain at his words shot through her. Not that she was surprised with the revelation. He was not alone; when she had returned from her months of torture and left the Army, her future seemed bleak, and she could not imagine herself ever feeling happy again, ever having normal relationships. But the harsh image of Gibbs staring down the barrel of a pistol hurt, and she could not keep her hand from reaching over to rest on his thigh.

He gave her a flinch of a smile. “But I knew Shannon would be really pissed at me. I tried…” His teeth clenched and his eyes closed. “God, I tried,” he ground out. Jack let her fingers rub gently above his knee. “Thought I could find her again…someone like her…someone…” He shook his head. “But, uh, I wouldn’t let her go, so I couldn’t give the others what they needed…and…I drove them away.”

Jack began to dread where it seemed he was going, but she couldn’t do anything to stop him, even if she didn’t agree with him.

“Maybe with Jen – “ His voice fell away and he cleared his throat again. “So, like Joe…for me, love has never lasted.” Finally, he looked at her again. “I’m not very good relationship material, Jack,” he said bluntly. “I don’t talk about feelings. I get focused on one thing and don’t pay attention to other things.”

_Valentine’s Day._ Not only had the chocolates _not_ been from him, but he had not even remembered it was Valentine’s Day.

“I’ve done things my way for a long time. I’d be hard to live with.”

_Live with? Who said anything about living with?_ But instantly the thought brought a smile to her lips.

Abandoning the swimsuit string, he covered her hand on his thigh, his expression still vulnerable but soft and open. “Things changed after Paraguay. I had this _feeling_ – “ He laughed lightly, and she smiled with him at the irony. “ – that I was waiting for something. That there was something out there waiting for me.” Now, he looked directly into her eyes. “Some _one_.”

Her eyes widened, and she pressed down the surge of hope, not wanting to be devastated if his next words went in another direction.

“I hurt people,” he admitted, wincing. “In relationships. People who love me. People I…love. I don’t want to hurt you, Jack.” 

_Well, shit._ This was it. This was where he bailed, where he pushed her away with the reason of not hurting _her_ , but she knew it was also about not allowing _himself_ to be hurt again. Opening her mouth to confront him with that truth, she abruptly closed it again when she saw the intense expression on his face. 

“I don’t want to _hurt_ you,” he repeated as he picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “I want to _love_ you.” 

_What?_

Jack stared at him, her mouth open, eyes wide. Of all the things she had played out that he might say in that moment, the word _love_ had only been a fantasy. _Like_ , maybe. _Screw around_ , probably. But _love_?

_Oh. My. God._

She must have been staring for a while, because he dropped her hand from his lips, huffing out an uncomfortable, harsh laugh, and turned away. “Okay. Yeah. I get – “

But he couldn’t finish before she had grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard, letting her lips and tongue show him how she felt about his revelation. It took him only a second to catch on. She found herself sprawled over him, still holding his face, his hard arms tight around her back, their skin, already heated from the sun, burning hotter as they pressed together. Her lips slid down his neck, tasting the salt and sweat, and her hands trailed from his face over his shoulders. Their legs tangled together, hers smooth and soft, his hairy, rough, and hard. She entertained a fleeting thought that no one knew them there, so if they got arrested for indecent exposure maybe Leon wouldn’t find out.

From somewhere close by they heard, “You go, girl!” Looking up, Jack saw two women who appeared to be in their mid-twenties grinning at them. One of the women winked and gave her a thumbs up before they continued on their way.

Laughing, she collapsed onto his chest before sliding to the side so she could lay her head on his shoulder and play with the medallion that she now could tell was a miniature St. Christopher. She didn’t think Gibbs was Catholic, but that was a question for another day.

“You may not talk about feelings much,” she said softly, “but when you do, you sure as hell know what to say.”

She felt his shoulder tighten as he raised his head to look down at her. “Yeah?” he asked, voice much lighter than it had been just a few minutes earlier.

“Oh, yeah.” Giddiness ballooned inside her as she stretched up to kiss him again. When their lips parted briefly, she murmured against his mouth, “How fast can that damn transport get back to D.C.?”

“Not nearly fast enough,” he murmured back.

She finally pulled back and smirked at him warmly, pushing up on her knees and extending a hand to him. “Then let’s get going. We have some unfinished business at Casa de Gibbs.”

Tilting his head and smiling sheepishly, he whispered, “Gonna need a few minutes.”

In her rush, she didn’t process what he was saying. “What?”

He flushed and gave her a pointed look. “Somebody created a little problem, and I need a few minutes.”

Oh. _Oh!_ Smirking, and more than a little proud, she let her gaze shift to his swim trunks, her eyes going wide at the impressive sight. “Cowboy, that is not a _little_ problem,” she corrected. “Not even close.” Sliding her towel off the sand and giving it a shake, she tossed it right on top of the problem. “Wrap that around you and get off your ass. We got a plane to catch.”

His genuine, hearty laugh carried over the wind, and as she watched him pull the gray t-shirt back on and follow orders to sling the towel around his waist, the dying rays of the sun reflected off his tousled silver hair, and she got another glimpse of the knight in shining armor.

Except this knight wasn’t some fantasy that teased her lonely evenings and rode on the perimeters of her dreams. This knight had hard edges, and faults, and human frailties…and honor, and courage, and compassion…and love.

Watching him stand there, straight-backed, tall, and handsome, she wondered if the cargo transport had an empty storage bin they could use for a half-hour or so.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 27  
> By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
> 
> I envy not in any moods  
>  The captive void of noble rage,  
>  The linnet born within the cage,  
> That never knew the summer woods:
> 
> I envy not the beast that takes  
>  His license in the field of time,  
>  Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,  
> To whom a conscience never wakes;
> 
> Nor, what may count itself as blest,  
>  The heart that never plighted troth  
>  But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;  
> Nor any want-begotten rest.
> 
> I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
>  I feel it, when I sorrow most;  
>  'Tis better to have loved and lost  
> Than never to have loved at all.


	4. Cocked and Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could he believe that, after all these years, he had finally found someone who knew him, who had been where he had been, who understood and accepted his baggage, and even trusted him with her own burdened past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter, with an epilogue at the end. I certainly appreciate the kind comments that have given inspiration to write more! Big thanks to my talented and perceptive beta, Wulfie, for pushing me always to be better.

**To Make the World That Simple**

by MAHC (RoxanneRolls)

**Chapter 4: Cocked and Ready**

**Multiple POVs**

**POV: Gibbs**

Gibbs swore the return trip lasted twice as long as the trip out. Even his legendary ability to sleep sitting up against a cargo bulkhead failed him as his brain churned with thoughts about the past two days. 

He had spent a considerable amount of time envisioning how it would be with Jack for the first time. So much so, it had necessitated holding his duffle in his lap more than once on the flight back. Judging from Jack’s smirk, he didn’t figure he had been too stealthy about it. When they got to Andrews, a rough landing took his mind off of it as they both hung on to the netting to keep from being pitched abruptly to the floor, but the distraction did not last long.

After they _finally_ gathered their bags and tramped down the ramp, she leaned in and, with a stage whisper to be heard over the engines, said, “No need to hide that Colt from me, Cowboy. I like that it’s cocked and ready.”

Well, _hell._ Now he had to swing his garment bag from over his shoulder to hang in front of him, so the rest of the base didn’t get a glimpse of just how cocked and ready he was. He glared at her, but just as he expected, her smirk merely stretched into a grin.

There was no discussion of “your place or mine” on the ride home. They both had silently agreed that his house was the choice, simply because the business they needed to finish had started there. 

He threw a quick glance to his right, taking in her profile, her soft smile, the way she sat cross-legged in the passenger seat. A quick memory popped into his head, a memory of probably the last time he had been so impatient to be with someone, the first time he and Hollis Mann were together, having made each other wait until their joint case was solved to fall into bed. It did not escape him that Hollis and Jack had similar looks, and a wave of guilt swept through him at the thought. Hollis was a lifetime ago, and she made her choice, regardless of what he may or may not have eventually decided. Jack was here, his present, and a very different time of life for him. He had not been ready when Hollis wanted something deeper, more permanent. He was still dealing with the effects of his second coma, feeling raw all over again with the loss of his girls. Hollis was probably right to leave, even if she did hurt him with her choice.

But now things were different; _he_ was different. He had survived near-mortal wounds in Iraq, had made it through torture and starvation in Paraguay. Hell, he had even burned a rule. But he wasn’t the only one different; Jack was different from Hollis. They were both beautiful women, headstrong, accomplished, tough, smart, and brave. But Jack had a vulnerability that softened her, made him want to hold her, protect her. He figured she would be pissed if she realized this, but he couldn’t help it. But what really made Jack different was the fact that he didn’t mind being held _by her_ , protected _by her_ , in a way. And he really had not had a relationship like that with anyone else since Shannon. Could he believe that, after all these years, he had finally found someone who knew him, who had been where he had been, who understood and accepted his baggage, and even trusted him with her own burdened past?

He blinked, forcing himself to concentrate on the road, having no intention of being killed before they could finish that business, but it was no easy task with her fingers playing along his right thigh, dancing upward inch-by-inch until they traced the seam of his jeans just below the zipper.

“Jack,” he cautioned, voice strained and hoarse.

“Hmm?” The dancing continued up the denim panel toward the button.

He swallowed and let out a hard breath. “ _Jack_ ,” he warned, “you said you want to finish what we started.”

Now she slid her thumb and middle fingers down either side of the zipper, pressing inward against the solid length beneath it. “Um hmm,” she hummed.

His right hand left the steering wheel and jerked down to catch her fingers and pull them away just before he would have embarrassed himself. “Well, I don’t wanna finish _right here_ ,” he told her, cheeks burning. 

“Aww,” she complained, the tease clear in her voice, “I was just trying to keep your interest…up.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand both in affection and in desperation to keep her safely away from his groin. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. My…interest…isn’t going anywhere.”

“You mean, not _yet_. There is somewhere I definitely want it to go as soon as we get home.”

He managed not to careen off into a ditch – barely.

**XXX**

It had been a long time since someone looked at him the way Jack was, a long time since someone’s soft hands had taken such care as they eased over his shoulders, slid down his arms, traced through the hair of his chest and abdomen. He stood before her, clingy boxer-briefs the only thing keeping him from being naked, looking down with the touch of a smile on his lips, eyes already hooded from the desire her fingers stirred, watching as she concentrated on every inch of skin, every scar, every blemish, her touch stirring up goosebumps.

She was only slightly more clothed than he was, standing in unadorned, but still sexy, panties and bra, both of which were thin enough to allow him more than a peek at what lay beneath. What he saw already took his breath away.

They had arrived at his house just a few minutes earlier, and neither of them wasted time between the driveway and the front porch, hauling their bags inside to be dropped almost immediately as Gibbs kicked the door closed and pulled Jack against him at the same time. Forty-eight frustrating hours of eyeball foreplay had them sizzling as they clutched each other roughly, mouths open, tongues tangling, hands pulling at shirts and belts and jeans.

Her hand plunged inside the boxers, stroking his shaft, thick, hard, and jerking against her touch. She hummed in appreciation, and he felt her other palm carefully cup his heavy sac, which churned eagerly in anticipation of finding release within her. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the intense pleasure, both physical and emotional, of being with this woman, letting his head fall back and his hips push forward as she peeled off the last barrier to his body.

As cool air breathed on his heated skin, he pried open his eyes to gage her reaction. The look on her face was a mixture of pleasure, delight, and perhaps a touch of trepidation.

“I think we were both wrong,” she confessed, and worry shot through him. _Wrong? Wrong about what?_ Had she suddenly realized she didn’t need to get tangled up with him?

A mischievous grin stretched her lips, as she shook her head. “That, Cowboy, is not a Colt. _That_ is a Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum Model 29.”

**XXX**

**POV: Jack**

Jack had begun to wonder if they were going to get home before she combusted right there on the plane. It did not take an eagle eye to see the blatant evidence that Gibbs was struggling, too. The energy that had surged between them for over two days had gotten her so worked up that she considered dragging him behind a couple of crates and getting them both some relief. 

When they did finally land – even a bouncing touchdown counted as a successful landing – she had matched his eager strides down the ramp, leaning over to let him know she heartily approved of his mood, and grinning merrily when he had to swing his garment bag in front of him as a result. 

She would totally admit to torturing him on the ride to his house, but then she had not intended to make any mystery of her desire. They had danced around each other for three years. She was ready to stop dancing and get to – well, she was ready.

So now she stood in his living room, drinking in the delicious view of his very masculine body, long, lean muscles, broad chest and shoulders. The only thing keeping her from her current target was a pretty useless pair of boxer-briefs that failed spectacularly to tame their insistent contents. All joking about Sigs and Colts aside, she was now deducing that he had undersold himself.

When she finally had him in her hands, heavy and powerful, she could not help but be both thrilled and a bit anxious, covering her fascination with a snarky quip that had him blushing first and then smirking.

He made a noise – _was that a growl?_ – and reached around to snap open her bra one-handed, his eyes darkening almost to midnight blue as he gaze over her breasts. In a matter of seconds, nothing else stood between them as her panties hit the floor along with his boxers.

“I could jump you right here,” she gasped when his hands closed around her shoulders and pulled her against him, their bodies flush so that she could feel every impressive inch of him from head to toe and all points in between. 

His groan at their embrace turned into a chuckle with her comment. “Yeah?”

Apparently, he liked that idea, or at least part of him did, pulsing hard against her abdomen.

Her eyes closed, and she ground against him as she answered with a sensuous laugh. “Oh yeah, I could.” Then she squinted toward the wide – and exposed – living room windows and reconsidered. “Uh, but maybe we should take this somewhere…more private.”

**XXX**

They took turns pressed against the walls as they stumbled their way up the stairs. Jack’s skin felt electric with every touch from his fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue. The press of his hard muscles and the rough scratch of hair on his chest, arms, and thighs sent shocks of desire to her core.

Finally, they practically crashed through the door to what Jack knew to be the master bedroom, the room he had shared with Shannon, the room – Ellie confided to her – he only re-occupied in recent years after sleeping on the couch or the guest room for decades. Surely, he knew what he was doing, but she summoned enough coherence to drag her lips from his and ask.

“Are you – “ His tongue licked between her breasts, and she gasped and swallowed. “Are you sure?” she finally managed.

“Geez, Jack,” he rasped, spreading one large hand over her firm ass and the other over her left thigh, pulling her leg up around his waist. “Does it _feel_ like I’m sure?”

Steel pulsed against her with certainty, drawing another gasp. _Well, yes. Yes, it does._ But she tried again. “This – room,” she breathed out. “This – bed. Wasn’t it – “

“It’s mine,” he interrupted, lifting her other leg so that she was completely wrapped around him. “It’s my bed – Jack.” His mouth claimed hers hard, and in the middle of the heated kiss, he declared, “And I want you in it.”

Well, that worked out just perfectly, since she really, _really_ wanted to be in it with him.

**XXX**

Even though they had started out fast and furious as soon as they stumbled into the house, somehow they had managed to slow things down. Without saying a word, both Jack and Gibbs conveyed the desire to savor the moment when they had finally both put their reticence behind them and allowed themselves to enjoy each other with no barriers, physical or emotional.

Being in the bedroom, in his bed – not Shannon’s and his – helped them focus, and she melted at the tenderness she felt from his touch now. He moved slowly, caressing a shoulder, then a thigh, then behind a knee. He slid down her body, eyebrows lifted in silent question for what he wanted to do. 

_Yes. Definitely. Please._

She hoped her strangled groan conveyed her answer clearly. Apparently it did, because his mouth touched her, softly at first, then with increasing pressure that set off tingling electric pulses. 

_Oh, his hands are not the only part of him that is skilled._

He took his time, bringing her to the edge, backing off and then pushing again and again. When she drew too close, he paused, letting her tight muscles relax enough to keep her just below the breaking point.

"Bastard," she gasped, neck arched back onto the pillow.

He paused to grin up at her. "That’s what the second ‘b’ is for.”

She swatted at him, but it was a feeble attempt, and he returned to his mission.

Finally, he stopped and slid back up the bed, bracing over her and looking down with a touch of concern in those blue eyes. “This okay?” he asked gently, and she realized he wanted to give her the choice of position, realized he understood, with all of her past, that she might need to feel in control during sex. Eyes moist, she leaned forward, kissing his lips softly and nodding.

“Jack,” she heard him whisper as he pushed in slowly, stopping halfway and pulling back out.

“No, no, no,” she groaned at the tease. “Don’t stop.”

He slid in again, still only part of the way, and withdrew, repeating the motion several times before she cursed, wrapped her long legs around his hips, and arched up hard. Twin gasps escaped them as he plunged deep, pleasure exploding inside her.

Peering up at him through a haze of desire, she watched his mouth tighten as he struggled for control. When he moved again, pulling out, pushing in, adding a tantalizing rotation, she writhed beneath him, her legs curling around his waist. Each thrust hit deep and hard, and Jack arched her back to meet him, need throbbing at her core.

His voice, hoarse and strained, betrayed his collapsing control. “Jack – “

She nodded, letting him know she was ready for him to let go.

His jaw tightened, teeth gritted as he hung on just a while longer, bracing on his left arm and reaching with his right to tease her taut nipples first with his long fingers and then with his tongue. Electricity shot straight to where he was sunk deep within her, and she felt intense contractions grip her body relentlessly. She cried out, throwing back her head and bucking against him, every wild spasm squeezing around him in exquisite agony.

In the midst of her eruption, she felt him swell even thicker, heard his breath quicken. With a rough grunt, he gave a final thrust, his strong arms actually trembling while he fought to hold his body in place. She felt the powerful pulses as his hot release filled her, triggering more waves of pleasure over and over until he finally gasped and collapsed, random spasms still pumping within her.

**XXX**

Jack snuggled up against Gibbs’ side, her hand resting on his chest, his long body stretched out, his right arm around her, lightly caressing her shoulders. She felt…giddy, which seemed kind of ridiculous. She was not a silly 13 year old fawning over some teenage heartthrob. She was a grown woman, middle-aged even, who had just enjoyed an extremely passionate and satisfying sexual encounter with a grown man – a handsome, sexy, and incredibly talented grown man. Nevertheless, she definitely felt giddy, and she decided she liked it. 

As she let her fingers draw swirls in the hair across his chest, she relaxed in contentment at the simple intimacy of the moment. It was not necessarily something she had done often with previous lovers, wary of what their reaction might be to her scars, both internal and external. 

As she considered what changes this intimacy between Gibbs and her would bring, a thought occurred to her, one she wasn’t sure she should verbalize, but her sated body was too lazy to put up much argument.

“Hey,” she murmured, dropping a kiss against a scar on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and rolled his head to press a return kiss into her hair. “Hey back.”

“I have a question.”

“Ah, Jack, give me fifteen minutes – “

She laughed and slapped at him playfully. “Not what I was asking, but I will definitely take you up on that.”

A chuckle shook his chest gently. “Okay. What’s the question?”

“Now that we are…” she began, then paused, not exactly sure what they were, but confident that they were… _something_. “Should I – I mean, would it be okay to…call you something besides Gibbs?”

“Thought I was _Cowboy_.”

“Oh, you definitely are, but there are times when…well, serious times when Cowboy doesn’t fit. So, I thought maybe…Jethro…or Leroy?“

His hand stopped for a second, and she felt the muscles under her tighten. Quickly, she added, “I mean, if you want.”

The room remained quiet for a good half minute. Again, Jack forced herself to let him process her question, second-guessing herself about bringing it up so soon. Finally, his chest rose in a heavy, slow breath, then fell again as he exhaled just as slowly. His hand began caressing again, which gave a bit of relief.

“I was ‘Leroy’ growing up,” he shared, his voice gravelly from their recent exertions. “Dad, Mom, L. J. Everybody. If I went back to Stillwater today, I’d be ‘Leroy’.”

She listened to the tone of his voice, read the lines of his body, still tense. He was silent for a few more seconds, then said, “Diane called me Leroy. Rebecca called me Jay. Stephanie – “ He stopped, as if he realized that might not be a good path to go down. “Been _Jethro_ mostly since then.”

She smiled, even though it bothered her to think of all the heartache he had been through.

After a few seconds, his voice fell even lower and softer. “Shannon called me Gibbs.” He swallowed hard, but his voice remained steady. “Nobody else I’ve… been with has called me that.” His face darkened for a moment, and he added, “At least, nobody I wanted to.”

“Okay, _Jethro_ it is,” she decided after a moment, forcing a cheery note into her tone.

His caress stopped as he shifted onto his side, propping his head on his right hand and lifting his left to play with a twirl of hair that fell across her cheek. Pushing it back, he looked at her, his eyes glancing from her lips to the top of her head and then back to her own eyes. He smiled, and there was such warmth and love in his gaze that she had to catch her breath.

“Gibbs,” he whispered.

She gave him a puzzled smile. “What? ”

“Gibbs,” he said, sliding his large palm to cup her jaw, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. “Jack, I want you to call me _Gibbs_.”

As realization overwhelmed her, she felt the enormity of what he was saying, of what he was doing. Tears sprang up, burning her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. He leaned in to kiss them and then kiss her lips.

“Are you – are you sure?” she managed, still not really believing him.

His mouth covered hers, moving slowly but insistently, and when he finally pulled back, she was breathless at the depth of emotion in his kiss. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I’m sure.”

_Shannon called me Gibbs._

_Jack, I want you to call me Gibbs._

**XXX**

**Epilogue**

**POV: McGee**

Senior Field Agent Timothy McGee stepped off the elevator and strode into the bullpen, a grin on his face, feeling pretty satisfied with himself. He smirked when he saw that Torres and Ellie were already in, looking quite cozy leaned up against Bishop’s desk almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

With Gibbs in Hawaii for a few days, the team had actually gotten some well-deserved time off. He had enjoyed the extra days with the twins and had also been glad to have time to practice cooking the enchiladas on Gibbs’ grill top before he debuted them.

“Good morning, everybody!” he greeted, loud enough to break up the private conversation.

Torres twisted around and jerked his chin up. “Hey, mi primo, McGee! How was Tio Roland’s pot luck birthday fiesta?”

Stowing his go bag behind his desk, Tim nodded and smiled broadly. “It was actually really fun.”

Ellie pushed away from her desk to stand in front of him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“What did I tell you, amigo?” Torres said, stepping up next to Ellie.

“I have to admit, Nick, you were right about the enchiladas. Grilling really takes them to the next level.”

Nick feigned insult. “Did you doubt me?”

“And I’m telling you, Cousin Maria’s guacamole, with the good chips, was incredible. I got her recipe for Delilah to try.”

“Oh, yum!” Ellie’s eyes lit up. “You think Tia Lupe would let Nick and me come next time?”

Tim shrugged. “I’ll ask. Uncle Frank’s birthday is next month. They made me promise to bring enchiladas again.”

“You are a true amigo now, my friend,” Torres told him, with a fond slap on the back. “Maybe I will give you my secret recipe for tamales this time.”

“You have a secret recipe for tamales?”

They all looked up at the sound of Jack’s voice. McGee couldn’t help but smile at her energy as she practically bounced down the stairs. He had really grown to like the forensic psychologist, and not just for her professional contribution. Jack was a good person, and he was glad she was part of their team. He was also glad she was there for Gibbs, in whatever capacity that might be. 

“You been at the pool on your time off?” Ellie asked, pointing at Jack’s sunburned cheeks. 

Tim took a closer look and saw the pink that spread across her nose, cheeks, and forehead. He hadn’t realized Jack had taken off, too. She worked with more than just their team, after all, but he certainly didn’t begrudge her the opportunity. They had all had a challenging spring. 

“Ah, I just spent a couple of hours on the beach. You know, to get away.”

“Which one?” Ellie asked with interest. “I went to Chesapeake Beach last summer. Love the pier there!”

Tim watched, a slight frown forming, as Jack cleared her throat and dropped her eyes. “Uh, no, not Chesapeake. I, uh, went a little farther away.”

“Well,” Ellie added, “Sandy Point State Park is nice, too. Not as crowded as Virginia Beach.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. It did not escape Tim that she had not answered Ellie’s question. “Everybody have a good week?” she asked.

Torres and Bishop grinned at each other, earning a lifted eyebrow and smirk from Sloane. Not wanting to know anything about what they might have done together, Tim repeated a couple of things about the fiesta for Jack’s information.

“I worried about Boss, though,” he admitted. 

“Why?” Ellie asked, concern in her tone.

“You know, going all the way to Hawaii with Joe’s ashes.” It still nagged at him that he had not insisted on going with Gibbs, despite his boss’s assurance he would be fine. “I offered to go with him, but, you know Gibbs. He just waved me off.”

“Come on, McGee,” Torres said. “Gibbs is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

“I know. It just bothers me that he went alone.”

“He wasn’t alone.”

The three of them turned suddenly to Jack, whose eyes had widened. She coughed and then cleared her throat.

“What do you mean he wasn’t alone?” Ellie pounced on her.

“Uh – “

But once again a knight in shining armor – or a knight in a sky blue dress shirt, blue sports coat, and khaki pants – swept into their midst and saved her.

“She means I wasn’t alone, Bishop.” Without stopping, he breezed past them, setting a drink holder with four steaming cups on his desk. “Joe was with me.”

_Oh._ Well, he could see that. Still, Tim had fully expected Gibbs to return from his somber duty quiet and maybe contemplative, especially after the emotional moment they had shared before he left. Instead, Boss almost bounced through the bullpen, a smirk curving his lips.

“I hope this is not going to be a four-coffee morning, Gibbs,” Torres laughed, pointing at the desk.

“Nah. Got one for each of ya.”

Nick and Ellie stared at Gibbs for a long moment, then turned to McGee, as if he could assure them Gibbs had actually just brought them all coffee. Amazed himself, he gave them a subtle shrug and head shake. 

“Um…thanks, Boss,” he responded for all of them.

Gibbs dropped his badge and weapon in his desk drawer, but he did not sit like he usually did. Instead, he stepped back to Jack, leaned in very, _very_ close to her ear, and whispered something.

As the team member standing closest to them, Tim caught the words “supper” and “my place” and watched, curious, as Jack smiled warmly and nodded. Then, his private boss brushed a kiss across her cheek, a little too close to her mouth for simple friendship, before he settled himself at his desk as if nothing spectacular had just happened.

Tim watched as Jack almost seemed to float back up the stairs, the grin on her face as radiant as he had ever seen.

McGee, Torres, and Ellie turned as one and took the few steps needed to stand in front of Gibbs’ desk, where they all stared down at him, eyes wide, mouths open.

Their boss sat straight-backed and focused as always at his computer, long fingers hitting keys while his attention moved from the screen to his paperwork and back.

After a long moment, he finally looked up at them, fixed his intense blue eyes on them, and said, “ _What?”_

**END**


End file.
